


The Headline Read

by Consulting_TARDIS_Hunter



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, Angst with no happy ending, Basically, Depression, Funerals, Hurt No Comfort, I'm Bad At Tagging, Just for feels, Kinda, M/M, Might be OOC, Mutual Pining, Not Canon Compliant, Season/Series 04, Sherlock Is Not Okay, Sherlock's experiments, Trigger warning for suicide, neither is John
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-08
Updated: 2017-11-08
Packaged: 2019-01-30 23:00:00
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,301
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12663192
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Consulting_TARDIS_Hunter/pseuds/Consulting_TARDIS_Hunter
Summary: Sherlock is close to the edge, and as always John is standing by his side. Though this time, he's right behind him and he can't forgive himself for pushing him off.





	The Headline Read

There was another fight in 221b that day, Sherlock couldn't really remember what it was about in all honesty, either that or he just deleted it as soon as he could. But he remembered yelling, oh yes, it was about severed fingers in a plastic bag. Sherlock thought he was being considerate, he kept it in a bag and away from the food. He didn't really see the problem. But John did. Sherlock fiddled with the syringe in his hand and thought back to what else happened that morning.

John opened up the fridge to get milk, nearly jumping out of his skin when he saw the fingers in the door of it.

"Sherlock, what the hell?!"

Sherlock didn't even move from the couch, where he laid with his fingers against his chin.

"Yes John?"

John closed the door of the fridge, suddenly losing all appetite.

"Why in the bloody hell are fingers in the refrigerator?"

He seemed to be trying to take a deep breath.

Sherlock just calmly opened his eyes.

"I honestly don't see why you are so angry about it, I kept them out of the way of food and they are in bags."

John closed his eyes and looked away from his, currently insufferable, flatmate.

"It's just fingers in the fridge, really? Why?"

Sherlock sighs and rolls his eyes.

"For an experiment, John."

John was finding it harder to keep calm, he knew both of them were being prats but he just couldn't bring himself to care.

"Why in the hell are you doing these bloody experiments anyway, what useful information do you get out of it? Most of it is something we already know or it doesn't work at all. Hell, it's even more useless than that bloody cigar ash index of yours."

Sherlock gritted his teeth, barely even showing signs of being irritated.

"John, do calm down. It's difficult to deal with and talk to you when you're being irrational."

John glared daggers at the raven haired man, hands clenched and jaw closed.

"Oh, so now I'm difficult to deal with? How do you deal with yourself every day then? Pretty well, I assume since I think you're the only one that doesn't find you to be an absolute arse. You know, I think more people would at least try to tolerate you if you stopped being such a freak and acted normal for once!"

Sherlock stared at him blankly until that last sentence, wincing visibly. John realized right then what he just said, trying to take it back as he watched Sherlock put up every barrier he once took down around John. John suddenly felt sick.

"You're correct, I am a freak. But you were the only person to never call me that. But it is for the best, I was actually starting to get attached. Funny that."

Sherlock got up from the couch, his very essence silencing John, just like how he did with the people from the yard. He put on his coat and scarf, stepping out of the flat without another word. Both Sherlock and John felt tears brimming in their eyes once he left.

That was the last sentence John heard from Sherlock in his life.

John regretted it for the rest of his now short life, he knew Sherlock was always on the edge. Now he realizes how close he is... Was. It's was now, isn't it? Everyone blamed him. ' **Overdose of Genius Detective** ' the newspaper headlines read, trying desperately to figure out what pushed him over the edge.

John could barely bring himself to go to the funeral, knowing he was the one that was the final straw... The final nail in the coffin. He is... Was his best friend. Could he even call himself that after what he did? He really didn't know any other way.

"Into battle."

John told himself while staring at the suit he was about to wear. Sherlock got it for him, the damn thing was about the cost of all his outfits combined.

Posh bastard.

John let out a tragic mixture of a laugh and a sob before putting on the suit.

"Soldiers today?"

he asked in the empty room, half expecting Sherlock to reply from behind him. John shook his head after a few moments and looked in the mirror, not even being able to look himself in the eye anymore. So he closed them and took a deep breath.

"You once said, "Why is it called, taking your own life. It's not you who will be missing it, you'll be dead. It'll be everyone else." and "Your life is not your own. Keep your hands off it." God, I wish you followed your own advice you bastard. You know, everyone blames me, how I didn't see the signs or... Stop you. Everyone blames me... Hell, I blame me too. But they still want me to give your eulogy, they think I'm the only one who can do it. I can't even believe you're dead after that stunt you pulled a few years ago. Because you can't be, you're Sherlock bloody Holmes. Hat man, Mr. Punchline, and my... My best friend. So just... Come back. I'm sorry you bastard I'm sorry!"

John punches the mirror, tears falling and knuckles now bloody. He opens his eyes and pulls the shards out of his knuckles. He tries to breathe but it just comes out as sobs of,

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, just come back! Like you did before, right? This is just some cruel trick!"

Eventually he pulls himself together and says into the now nearly shattered mirror.

"Just one more day Watson, then you can leave. Just give his eulogy then both of us can be at peace."

and with that he leaves the flat.

It all passes in a tear soaked blur, confessions that should never be heard finally being made in shaky words after a eulogy to friends who eventually realize that John really did love him.

A few days after the funeral John was finally left alone, his friends making amends and slowly being convinced that he could be left alone.

Everyone regretted that decision.

John quickly got all of his affairs in order so everything went smoothly after...

He left some money to Mrs Hudson. Things important to family left to Harriet and his mother. Everything else was dispersed among the few friends he still had.

John left a note, isn't that what people do, leave a note?

He felt bad about leaving such a mess for Mrs Hudson, he didn't know how she would rent the place out now. John made up his mind and he obviously wasn't changing it.

John took a deep breath and sat down in his chair, staring at the empty one in front of him. Except it wasn't. Sherlock's violin was propped up in it with its bow by its side. Ready to play. John closed his eyes with resolve and put the gun barrel in his mouth, metallic taste burning on his tongue. To brace himself he bit down on it. But he knew nothing could brace him for what he was about to do.

John said one last prayer and thanked God that Mrs Hudson and Mrs Turner were out. John said one last thing around the barrel of the gun, he had to. It was a bit muffled but it sounded crystal clear in the room, like a window shattering from a gunshot.

"I'm sorry Sherlock, I love you. I'll be with you soon."

His last thought was of Sherlock standing at the window playing his violin, music filled his mind. One last time, he felt his presence. His world. One last time, he felt happy.

Then...

He pulled the trigger.

' **Suicide of Crime Blogger** ' the headline read.


End file.
